Lost
by TheAlphaWrites
Summary: After Coulson's funeral, Tony returns to the memories of the people he has lost over the years. Steve joins him. Hurt/Comfort AU. Slight Steve/Tony. Requested.


**Disclaimer:**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**Requested by Dew DeReade on FanFiction**

* * *

"Is this the first solider you've lost?"

Tony stayed silent for a moment, his body tensed against the onslaught of the memories. The faces, the voices; pleasant and otherwise – they all seemed to circle around his mind, increasing in volume until it was just white noise.

**_Howard and Maria Stark…_**

**_…Yinsen…_**

**_Tay_****_…_**

**_…Obie…_**

**_Phil Coulson…_**

_The first solider…no Cap, not even close…_

He laughed bitterly. "You have no idea."

* * *

"What did you mean by that?" Steve's voice jerked Tony violently from his thoughts, almost causing him to spill the whiskey tumbler over himself. He muttered a curse, and turned his attention back to the pictures spread out on the coffee table in front of him. Placing the glass down, he quickly pushed the photographs together, hiding them from prying eyes.

"What are you talking about Cap?" he responded after a long pause.

Steve was standing directly behind him now. Tony could feel his presence like a weight over his body. "'You have no idea'," Steve elaborated, "That's what you said to me after…what did you mean?"

"What you think you're the only person to have lost someone in their lives? Please," he snorted before downing the rest of the drink. He carefully unscrewed the lid on his whiskey bottle and poured a double shot into his glass, which he knocked back just as quickly.

"…Who?"

The word was simple, a single syllable, and really should not have drawn such a strong reaction from Tony. But it did. It made his back straighten, rigid, his shoulders hunched forward. It made his hands shaky slightly and his mouth go dry. He moved automatically for another drink, although it did nothing to quench his thirst.

He could practically hear Steve's nervousness rising at his involuntarily reaction.

"I'm sorry, I was prying," he fumbled over his words, "It's really none of my business. It's not anyone's business really, so, yes, I apologise. I didn't mean to upset you or to push you or anything, so…"

"Cap, shut up, please," Tony interrupted, reaching a hand out to rub his forehead roughly. He sighed heavily, "Come on, sit down. You're probably going to want to after all this – it's kind of a long story."

"Tony, you don't have to…"

"Sit down, Steve," he said firmly, "It's no big deal. The entire world knows my business; I don't think one man – who has been a Capiscle for the last 70 years – will make much of a difference."

"If you're sure…" Steve sounded reluctant, but he took the seat beside him carefully, perching on the edge of the cushion. He leant forward on his legs and watched him, waiting patiently for him to talk.

Tony opened his mouth and the words lodged in his throat. He took another drink, breathing out a sigh of relief at the burn that spread along the back of his throat. He cleared his throat loudly, and kept his eyes focused on the photographs he had quickly pushed away. Now, he lifted them to rest carefully in his palm, filtering through them until he found the few he would need. He offered them to Steve.

Steve examined the first photo on the pile – a couple, on their wedding day. He recognised Howard instantly, well dressed in his dark blue suit, and he could vaguely remember the face of the bride – she had been part of the super solider project, he was sure. She was smiling widely at the camera, her cheeks flushed with her excitement; even Howard seemed to be sharing in the bliss of the day.

"The first was my parents, Howard and Maria Stark. I was fourteen and I wasn't prepared for their deaths. They weren't the greatest of parents by far, but I guess I expected them to always be around…" Tony started, "Dad wanted to go to some technology conference inRomeand mum thought it would be the best time to have a second honeymoon, or something…their car went off road on some Cliffside on the outskirts of the city. Mum died upon impact and dad 72 hours later – I had to fly over to identify and pick up the bodies. Aunt Peggy came with me, to offer support, but she couldn't really do much when she was crying more than I was. I didn't mind, it was the thought that counted and I preferred to comfort her than to allow myself to really think about what happened…"

"That must have been horrible for you, to lose your parents so young," Steve stated quietly.

Tony shrugged. "Maybe…it wasn't too bad though, Aunt Peggy was my guardian after that. She was cool, I liked hanging around with her when I was little – she actually liked listening to me. It was a change…she tried her best but she was about as much as a child person as my dad was. I ended up going to university a few months later, so I moved on dorms and she moved away for work, coming back to visit a few times before she died too – plane crash over the Pacific." He elaborated quickly, "It was pretty much around then when my problems started – peer pressure," he tapped his half empty whiskey bottle with his knuckles to illustrate his point.

"I never let myself get close to people after that, not really anyway. The only people I really had were Rhodey, Pepper…and Obie. I was happy that way. Less likely for me to get hurt, y'know. Then I got kidnapped by terrorists – next picture," Tony instructed.

Steve placed the wedding photo aside and stared into the face of a newspaper cutting. Obviously, Tony had purposely searched for this image, of this man. That was enough to show how important he was.

"Yinsen, Ho Yinsen, that was his name," Tony continued, "He was imprisoned with me; he saved me in fact. Fitted me with this," he tapped the edge of the arc reactor, "although of much lower tech, and he helped me make the first Iron Man suit. He's the one that told me I should try and do some good, while I still can; to not waste my life. He saved my life, offered him self up to buy me some more time; I owe him so much; I could at least do that for him. As soon as I could, I had a memorial put up in Gulmira, his home, to remember the people that had died – I thought he would appreciate it, and the ten hundred thousand dollars I put into victim of terrorism charities. It's something to help, right?"

"Yeah…" Steve had to stop to clear his throat, "Yeah Tony, its good. Very good."

"Good," Tony cleared his throat, "Then there was Obie…"

"Obadiah Stane, Howard's business partner, right?" Steve questioned, vaguely remembering the name from the files SHIELD had given him when he had asked what had happened to his old friends.

"Yup, that was him. He looked after the company until I was old enough to take over myself. I saw him as a father figure during that time, and I suppose that's why it hurt so much when…" he tried off with a sigh, downing his drink.

"Hurt so much when…" Steve pressed, his ears straining with the need to hear what had happened.

Tony coughed loudly. "He betrayed me, completely….he wanted the company for himself, wanted to make more money selling to both sides of the war, wanted the iron man suit specifically; he nearly killed me…twice in fact. He was the reason why I was kidnapped – apparently, he put out a hit on me."

Steve's eyebrows furrowed at the knowledge, his hands clenching tightly around the picture of Stane in his hand, his arms wrapped around Tony, both grinning widely into the camera lens. For the life of him, he couldn't understand how someone could betray another person so horribly; to literally offer someone's life away for financial gain. It sickened him.

"Nobody knows…do they?" he murmured, "The public, they don't have any idea what… there's a memorial in his honour in the middle of the city and he…you give speeches and…" he trailed off, shaking his head.

"Yeah, I give speeches professing how much of a father figure he was to me, and how I will always miss him; that he was a great man," Tony laughed bitterly, "What a crock of shit that is."

"Why didn't you tell everyone what he had done? He doesn't deserve to be remembered like that, and you don't deserve having to show grief to a man that tried to have you killed," He demanded an answer.

"There just isn't a point in destroying his name. It's just…easier to let it go," Stark sighed, sounding almost as if he were quoting from someone else.

Steve looked ready to argue, wanted to really know why, but the look on Tony's face prevented him from pushing. Inside, he pushed the picture away, not wanting to look at that despicable man's face any longer, leaving one more picture on display. It was Tony when he was younger – probably still a teenager – and redheaded girl, with the widest green eyes he had ever seen. It was taken on a beach, both clad in swim wear; their cheeks pressed together to get into the picture, wide smiles on their faces. It was probably the first picture he had seen when Tony was genuinely happy, as apposed to his fake smile that he used most of the time. Steve couldn't help the fond smile that crossed his face.

He traced his fingers over the curve of his friend's face. "When was this taken?"

Tony glanced towards the new picture before quickly averting his gaze. "My, uh, it was my last year of University. That'sTay; she was my best friend through those long years. We had just finished our last exams of the year, about four months away from getting our degrees, and had decided to drive down to the beach to celebrate with a bunch of other kids."

"Tay…" he repeated slowly, "She died, didn't she? What happened?"

"…We were a month away from our graduation ceremony," he started gruffly, pausing to try and clear the emotion from his voice. It shouldn't be this hard, not after all this time, but it still made his chest ache, his stomach heave; his throat scratch, his eyes well. He silently cursed his weakness. "There was some art exhibition up state – she was a photography major, so she thought it would help her in the long run. I'd dragged her to enough expos, thought it was fair if I went with her to this. I…Now, I wish…I should have stayed behind then, maybe…"

His voice cracked and after a moment of uncertainty, Steve reached out to grasp his hand. He was surprised by the fierceness in which Tony held back, crushing the fingers in his palm as if he needed the human contact, the warm touch to survive. Concerned, Steve shuffled closer to him, aware of how much their clasped hands were shaking. His free hand slipped behind his back, splayed just behind him, and Tony seemed to fall ever so slightly towards the exposed crook of his shoulder. Steve didn't say anything, just waited for him to continue.

"…It was around the anniversary of the deaths of Howard and Maria Stark, so everything was in a bit of an uproar about their memorial. I had been…ignoring calls about interviews or television shows that wanted me to talk about them," Tony whispered roughly, "Of course, no one really liked that. The press…they, uh, followed , she hated the idea of being in magazines or having her picture posted across every online gossip site, and when she noticed them tailed us…she tried to lose them – her natural reaction…" his eyes glazed over as he continued, "It was getting dark. We were speeding, the press cars had just disappeared behind us; we were laughing at the thrill of the ride…We didn't see it, this huge truck turning the corner…It…"

"It hit you…" Steve supplied carefully, his thumb tracing soothing circles across the knuckles of the smaller hand.

Tony watched the movement of the limb was if it was the most interesting thing in the world. "We collided on her side, drove about two blocks before the fucking driver realised he had a car attached to his fender. She…She'd died before the ambulance could even try to save her; too much blood was lost. Her seatbelt had caused her ribs to puncher her lungs, and her head injury left it impossible for her to keep consciousness. She was 24, fuck…"

Then he laughed, suddenly, harshly, embittered.

"And me, I got away with a couple of broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, metallic burns from when the side of the car scraped across the asphalt and whip lash…I should have died instead of her; she could have lived her life to the fullest, had all these adventures, actually done some good in her life, unlike me who just wasted it all by becoming the one person she didn't want me to be…it's my fault she's dead, it should have been me instead…"

Steve's heart ached at the broken voice. Tony turned to him with such wide eyes, glittering with tears, begging him for some kind of answer that Steve did not possess. He fell automatically into the broad chest, clinging to the fabric tightly, seeking protecting and comfort in the way a child would. Steve's hand came around to rub his back, not sure what else to do, but knowing the man needed the gentle touch.

"It was my fault, my fault…" he mumbled, the voice muffled against the plaid shirt.

"No Tony, it wasn't your fault," Steve assured quietly, cheek pressed against the crown of his head.

"…Tay, Obie, Yinsen; Mum, Dad and now Coulson…" Tony listed, "…Why do people always leave me?"

Tony couldn't believe the words that were coming out of his mouth. He'd never been this open, allowed himself to be this vulnerable, in front of anybody, not even Pepper or Rhodey, yet here he was, experiencing his first public emotional breakdown to date in front of Cap no less._ No_, he corrected himself, _not Cap, Steve_. Still, he couldn't imagine how the man thought of him now – so weak, so pathetic – he couldn't believe he was actually crying. The fabric began to feel damp under his cheek, but he didn't try to move off it, too comfortable to do that, although he did make a note to buy Steve another one of those shirts.

_He should move away_, he told himself. Take the bottle and find somewhere private to do this. He might have done it too, was fully prepared to break away and continue this somewhere else, until he felt the hot breath against his air, heard the four words he hadn't realised he had wanted to hear for years. The ones that made him feel lighter, safer, protected even. So he closed his eyes, and held onto the words and the meaning behind them for just a little while longer.

_I won't leave you…_

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**If you have any prompts for Avengers stories, anything you want to see in print, I am open for requests. You can either send me a private message on here, or leave me a message on my tumblr: WhatIMustWrite**

**Also, I want to write more Superfamily stories, in preparation and lead up to the new Spiderman movie, so if you have suggestion, please let me know**!


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